Hunter Prey
by mierin-lanfear
Summary: Akabane shows the dynamics between hunter and prey. Oneshot, nonyaoi, and comes after the series.


_A/N: This started with a dare - that I cannot write something beyond the PG rating. Maybe I proved them right...or wrong. At any rate, Dr. Jackal is the property of the creators of GB, so I make no claims._

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**Hunter-Prey  
**_by mierin-lanfear_

The in-house jazz music was unobtrusive to his ears as he entered the dark, cavernous bar. The cigarette fug hung in a thick palpable haze in the air, matched by the lazy meanderings of a blues saxophone.

The World's End Jazz Café in Ebisu was the only secluded place where he could meet up with his chosen contacts. Money and transport contracts were exchanged in the secrecy of the muted lights, covered by the husky, hoarse voice of the band's singer.

Tonight, however, was special.

A lull in the scheduled deliveries prompted him to visit the bar for a little R&R, his own kind. Hunting in the tawdry brilliance of Roppongi was too obvious and indiscreet for his tastes. The memories of his previous victims irritated him to no end.

He tipped his hat. The bartender across the table looked at him and grunted.

"The usual, please."

The bartender slid a toddy of scotch along the tabletop. He acknowledged him with a slight nod and a polite smile. "Arigatou." He savored the smoky flavor of Laphraoig on the rocks.

"Thank the lady down at booth 3, Akabane-san," the bartender replied. "Tab's on her." He nudged his head to the side.

Akabane's mulberry eyes narrowed into slits as his smile grew wider. "Do you know her?" He glanced over his shoulder, eyes fixed on the occupant of the booth nearest to the bar's entrance.

"Naw. She just came 'round here minutes after I opened the bar. Asked if I knew you and such. She said if you'd drop by tonight, your drinks are on her."

"Really?" He lifted an eyebrow as he observed his benefactress for the night. A mop of unruly curls, the color of good cognac, framed her heart-shaped face. She was half-smiling, half-frowning over her glass of margarita, oblivious to the scrutiny of the Doctor.

The bartender was talkative, for once. "Ya know, that type of girl's lookin' for trouble, alone in a bar and orderin' drinks for strangers. Practically beggin' to be..." He cleared his throat, looking embarrassed as Akabane shifted his eyes at him. "Gomen, but this place rarely gets its share of lookers. It's just not regular a pretty wom'n would come 'ere alone."

"Ah, I see. She knows me, then."

The woman in booth 3 got up, slung her purse on her shoulder and left the bar. She did not spare a single glance at the two men.

The jazz singer's voice slithered in a glissando:

"_Que moi, je n'ai pas oublié  
La chanson que tu me chantais..._"

Akabane counted up to ten. Giving a small nod at the red-faced bartender, he got down from the stool and followed her.

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It was drizzling over Tokyo.

From Ebisu, the woman walked to Shibuya, her beige Burberry coat wrapped around her petite form. Speckles of raindrops clung on her gold-brown curls. She paused at a convenience store at a street corner and bought an evening paper and a bar of Dove chocolate.

A few paces behind, Akabane trailed her, hiding his tall, dark form among the crowds that thronged the commercial district at night. He tipped his broad hat at passers-by who jostled against him and gave a polite smile, but his eyes never left her.

_She's unaware that I'm following her. Interesting._

At Shibuya, she boarded a train on the JR Yamanote line to the suburbs. During the ride, he stood at the farthest corner of the coach, watching her sneak a bite of chocolate as she skimmed the evening paper. He noticed that her fellow commuters were gawking at her.

He overheard one whisper, "_Gaijin_. Look at her hair and eyes."

Her eyes were the color of moss green jade. She flicked her gaze at her seatmates, then returned to her newspaper. Her air of nonchalance interested him.

The train stopped at Meguro. To his surprise, she alighted there.

It was in Meguro that he kept his den, a penthouse in one of the few high-rises overlooking the megalopolis. Following her, it was clear that she was leading him there.

_Tonight is really special_, he thought, beginning to close the gap between them.

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The black asphalt streets were slick with rainwater. The puddles, reflecting the slimmest crescent moon, he avoided stepping on as he increased his stalking pace.

She was careful, skipping over the slippery hazards with daintily-shod feet. He admired the way her black pedal-pushers encased her slim legs, and how the coat's belt cinched her waist, emphasizing her willowy figure. Her clover honey hair bounced and glistened under the incandescent streetlights as they passed in front of the Parasitological Museum - a must-see place, in his opinion - and crossed a bridge across the Meguro river.

He wanted to take her down right there, under the bridge. His excitement at the leisured chase was building up, but he knew that she was leading him back to his den.

The condominium was a block away from the bridge. As they approached it, she changed her pace and direction - she turned at the alley between the high-rise and a two-storey level building.

He gave a self-satisfied, predatory smile.

The alley was a cul-de-sac. She had just signed her death sentence.

His gloved hand revealed four gleaming scalpels, edges sharp as ice.

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She was facing him, arms crossed before her, at the entrance of the cul-de-sac. Her head cocked to one side, with defiant, green eyes latched on to his dark silhouette.

The Doctor retracted his blades into his hand. "You were well-aware all these times. I am impressed." He doffed his hat at her.

She replied, "Cliché as this may be, but first impressions last."

Taking a step closer, he asked, "Who are you?"

"That is not for you to know." Uncrossing her arms, she showed him her hands. Between her fingers were four tiny shurikens. "I want to ask you a question. I hope you can give me a definite answer."

He shrugged, smiling widely, his eyes narrowed into slits yet again. "Truth hurts for the unprepared, miss." He retrieved his scalpels, eight this time. "Ask, and you shall know."

She laughed, a pleasant, silvery sound to his ears. "Well, then, who is the hunter and who is the prey?"

He threw four of his blades, and watched in wonder as she dodged them, hair flying behind her. With the precision of a dancer, she executed a graceful pirouette, throwing two of her shurikens.

He smirked. "Slow." He ducked, avoiding the spinning blades. He aimed at her and threw four more.

She was, indeed, fleet of foot. She leaped towards the alley wall and clung there like a gecko. Her eyes shone in the murky darkness. Counting the surgical knives embedded on the concrete, she sang, "Eight. A hundred more to go...Akabane-_san_"

"Do you honestly think that if I run out of scalpels, you'll get your answer?"

"What if I say yes?"

"_Onna_, you amuse me with your naïveté." There was a dangerous glint in his purple eyes, as seen through the slit section of his hat.

She bounced down on the pavement. "It's optimism, doctor, not that."

"Then sheer optimism it is." He straightened himself up, releasing a shower of knives towards her. "Bloody hurricane."

He observed her dodge each and every blade with precision, the way she pivoted herself towards the slower knives in varying speeds. Two scalpels snagged at her coat, another nicked a curl from her head. Yet, she smiled at him, eyes gleaming like polished jade.

"You used fifty...and not a scratch on me. My turn." She jumped to the air and threw down two more shurikens down at him. One was a wide shot, ending up stuck on a lamppost, while the other drew blood from Akabane's shoulder.

He was breathing heavily, his hand clutching at the wound. His mind began to cloud over with annoyance and amusement at her. "You are trying my patience, _prey_."

"Is that so? Are you not _my_ prey tonight, Dr. Jackal?"

"Impertinent girl." His rare temper began to flare, but he stamped it out, and still kept his polite grin. "Impertinence can only be tolerated for long."

"Are you not entertained?"

He replied with a smaller volley of forty scalpels, which she side-stepped and feinted with the same technique Akabane saw her use.

His cut still bled, its twinges keeping him focused. With false concern, she said, "Use your ten remaining blades wisely, doctor. Or you can retrieve your other knives from the walls. I know it must hurt a bit..."

"It's just a scratch." His gaze fell on to the ground.

A lock of her hair lay on a puddle of rainwater, a curl of golden Cee afloat.

He laughed. "I ask you again: do you think that if I run out of scalpels, you'll get your answer?"

"I hate repeating myself, Akabane-san."

He threw the last ten scalpels at her, and watched her run to the dead-end and leap from wall to wall. All ten blades ended up in a loud _thunk_ against the mortar-and-brick.

He bent down, groaning. "Well then, you have your answer." His long, black coat brushed against the lone curl of hair and hid it.

She jumped back to the ground and walked over to him. "It's over, now."

His bloodied hand gripped the gold-brown lock. "Indeed, my dear."

He threw a newly-formed scalpel at her. It cut her at the crook of her neck, missed the carotid and jugular vessels, before ending up at the end of the cul-de-sac.

Red bloomed on her beige wool coat. Gasping, she backed against a wall, hand covering the wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

He loomed over her, answering the wordless question in her pained, yet defiant, green eyes. "You have forgotten that I can change _anything_ into knives, with my blood. That was your hair which cut you."

She gritted her teeth. "So?"

"Who is the hunter and the prey now?" His hand crawled at her throat, wrapping his long fingers around it. His excitement was at its zenith. "Answer me!"

She shook her head, touching his lips with her bloodstained fingertips. He kissed them, licking the blood off in a slow, deliberate manner.

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They made love on his all-white bed, blood smearing all over the satin sheets. It was rather a messy affair.

His hands explored her secret places, as she writhed and struggled under him. Her breath was sweet, as was her unmarked skin, perfumed with attar and female sweat. Her tentative, butterfly touches on his nape and back revealed her inexperience to him.

For the first time, Akabane feared that she might shatter. Under the fluorescent lights of the lobby, she reminded him of a china doll, fragile and delicate under his possessive grip around her waist. Yet her jade eyes reflected both her defiance and sense of helplessness, which made her more beautiful in his eyes.

Previously, he had his most basic needs satisfied by streetwalkers from seedy districts downtown, disposing them discreetly in distant garbage dumps, rivers and piers. Those Jane Does, when found with missing fingers or hacked-off chests, were listed as victims of the yakuza in police reports.

Tonight, however, was special.

When he entered her, he felt her squirm with initial resistance. He smoothed back her unruly caramel hair, and stared down at her face. Pain and ecstasy painted her face with raw strokes. At the back of his mind, the phrase _dying of pleasure_ flitted, amusing him.

She whimpered, "It hurts."

"Focus, then ride with it," he replied, pushing deeper. She choked back a gasp, gripping his black hair.

Her initial resistance melted away, as she followed his rhythm, her undulating, weasel body pressed against him.

They were almost at the limit. He nipped at her earlobe and whispered, "Tell me your name."

"Claudia..."

"Claudia, Claudia...a beautiful name..."

The last gateway burst open, into a strange, foreign world. Floating, he took her hand and entered together.

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"Your pillows are ruined." She lifted one satin-covered pillow by the corner. A large map of drying blood was there. "The dry cleaners won't be happy about this."

"Don't move, Claudia," he replied, ignoring her statement. "Or the gauze pad will slip." He bandaged her cut in a series of smooth hand movements, cutting the sticking plaster with an extra surgical knife he kept in one of his bedside drawers.

Glancing at him, Claudia made a moue as she tossed her clover-honey curls back. "You're not worried about the bedclothes at all."

"Why would I? The laundromat workers are paid to be discreet. Or else..." He drew her close to his almost-naked body, nipping at her bandaged wound.

She winced, clutching at the silken sheet wrapped around her body. "I see." She disengaged herself from him, looking at the scalpel in his hand. "Now, is there something you should do after this?"

"Which is?"

"Akabane, I know what you did to the Roppongi girls."

He sat back on his haunches, observing her. "Are you with the police?" Seeing her shake her head, he pressed on. "Then, how do you know about me, Claudia?"

"I have my secrets, and so do you. That makes me dangerous, right?" Her jade eyes were teasing him, daring him, as she touched his hand holding the blade..

"You want me..."

She nodded. "Let my death be fuss-free as possible. As prey, I ask you..."

"As you wish. Close your eyes." As she obeyed him, the Doctor raised the small knife, poised for her neck.

For a split-second, everything changed.

She flinched.

Retracting the blade, he caressed her face, tilting it up to him. "You flinched. Open your eyes, Claudia." His purple eyes met her green ones. "Look at me."

"Gomen nasai, Jackal. It won't happen again."

"It won't, because there is no need." His hands went around her body, tugging the sheet free. "The prey doesn't dictate what the hunter should do. You are marked as mine, inside and out."

"You cannot hurt me, then. Who is the hunter and who is the prey now?"

"Impudent girl..." He silenced her with a deep kiss.

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End file.
